


we made a mess (but I don't mind)

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Light, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-27 07:45:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13243716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: But, Gavin is all mused hair, slightly brown and natural when he drops the Golden Boy and doesn't bother dyeing his hair, and a clumsy voice, with an accent and a certain dopiness to it. This is the version Michael knows best, the one that falls asleep next to him and plays video games, and makes them order takeout from this place on the corner because they can't say no to him. He says things like, “Michael, boi! Let me kiss you!” and he’ll be smiling so genuinely, but it'll be comfortable and familiar.Michael loves this boy, this Gavin.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

> **songs--**

can you see me - haley klinkhammer.

elastic heart - east love (acoustic).

fault lines - fyfe.

night we met- lord huron.

come on, mess me up- cub sport.

stop it- sleeping lion (stripped).

caffeine - thomston.

crime - grey, skott (acoustic).

foresight gone haywire - zach schimpf.

begin - shallou (spotify studios version).

lose my mind - dean lewis.

breathing- congratulationz.

 

*

 

> * * *
> 
>   
> 

* prologue.

 

If there’s one thing Gavin knows about Michael, it’s that he likes the wreckage of a fire, the destruction caused by a bomb that will rock the ground beneath your feet. He likes the ruined, likes smashing empty bottles at walls to watch the pieces collect on the floor like abstract art; like, that time he drove them into the ocean after a heist just because he wanted to watch Ryan’s car sink to the bottom.

 

It’s like in those movies, laughing with your friends as you watch the rubble collect in the distance. Michael only stays long enough to watch things break, and maybe nothing about them has ever been whole, but no one likes the broken things quite like Michael. Gavin wonders, maybe, if that’s why Michael likes him so much.

 

The brutal truth, from Michael: in a few minutes, he will walk Gavin back to his apartment, tell him to keep his jacket with his black eye and a cut in his cheek, and when Gavin asks him to stay, he will leave. He will leave and Ryan will be waiting in the car out the front of Gavin’s place with his face paint fading from the rain and where he’s rubbed his face on his sleeve.

 

Michael leaves for two reasons: one, he loves Gavin. He has been alone with him too many times to count but after heists feels too personal; Gavin looks too small and hurt, and Michael can’t stop thinking about kissing him. And, two, because Michael doesn’t stay through the bad. He knows that and the others know it but Gavin’s voice asking him to stay almost made him want to. He wants to, but he doesn’t.

 

*

 

* * *

 

 

*

 

Gavin isn't terrifying, that's what everyone says.

 

He's the poster boy for a good time, with his hair dyed blonde, his skin tanned from summers spent on the beaches of Los Santos, and that signature smile everyone knows so well. If he looks at you like that, you're a goner; he worms his way into your heart, see, and it's too late to back out once you see him like that.

 

Geoff's known him the longest, and still ruffles his hair and calls him 'kid’ even though he no longer is one. He's a criminal, a bloody good one, but it's not hard to look at his wide eyes and believe for a second that he's not. He's not a man, and he's not a boy, and Geoff tells Michael one day that he's just a kid who was forced to grow up too fast.

 

The first time Ryan met Gavin, Gavin was all darting eyes and nervous attempts to talk, and freezing when Ryan put a fleeting, friendly hand on his shoulder. It was a heat of the moment decision, but Gavin stilled at the contact and Michael laughed so hard at the look on his face that Gavin could barely squeak out, “Michael, it's not funny, Michael!” before Ryan had retracted his hand.

 

They love Gavin, that's what Ray said once. They love the person under the Golden Boy, with his silly comments and his face wide and smiley, and everyone nods because it's true. Gavin is a different person when he's dressed up, with expensive sunglasses he'll only wear once resting on his nose, and the way he knows the right time to say the right thing.

 

Michael and the others are familiar with Gavin, though sometimes they all know they're not getting all of him. The Golden Boy, however, feels like a total stranger.

 

The Golden Boy, with his hair all done up, his outfit glittering gold, and a wicked, troublesome smirk on his face. None of them know him, just watch him during negotiations and try to understand how this boy is their Gavin, who they know predominantly as British Idiot.

 

But, the Golden Boy is only a facade for the bruised boy underneath, with his black eye and bruised ribs, and his tired eyes hidden under gold. Everyone has their mask, their persona and their disguise, but his seems like the most dangerous; pretend to be someone for long enough, eventually you'll become them.

 

Gavin uses his Golden Boy charm to get what he wants, that's obvious, but Michael doesn't quite know how to deal with the exhausted shell underneath the makeup and clothes. Because,it seems like his Gavin but right after a heist, it's not. His Gavin yells and laughs during a police shootout, like a moron, but afterwards, he stares at his own reflection for too long like he's trying to figure out who it is staring back.

 

Michael says, “You self-centred prick, help us with dinner,” but his tone is underlined with worry and slight confusion.

 

No one else seems to notice that Gavin does that, or they don't care enough to ask. But, Michael doubts it's the last one; they love him, he's not sure he could've convinced them to not care no matter how hard he tried. Geoff especially, because he took this Golden Boy under his wing and didn't ask for anything in return but his loyalty.

 

And, Ryan, because he does whatever Gavin asks when Gavin asks. He has them all wrapped around his finger, but Gavin says jump and Ryan says how high. Gavin's barely managed a high-pitched “Ryan, motorcyclist!” before Ryan's turning the car to knick the back wheel of a motorcycle on the road in front of them.

 

Michael wonders if he knows quite how much they'd do for him, even if it meant going into a burning building (which they have), or letting the police get them (which they have), or taking a bullet which was meant for him (which they have). All just for him, because Michael knows people die in this line of work but he doesn't want to die before Gavin.

 

The world would seem too dark, too dull, without his words and presence, and when Jeremy pushes Gavin out of the way of a bullet, Michael sees his own thoughts reflected in his dark eyes. They'll all die, sure, but Gavin falls asleep against Ryan and Michael in the backseat, and Michael can't even remember what their crew was like without him.

 

Boring, probably. Lonely, probably. They were a family before but they didn't seem full, or right, until they woke up in the morning to Gavin drinking coffee, or turned during a heist and found him looking back, or shared a drink at the bar and Michael knew if he raised his glass, Gavin would do the same.

 

It felt like every piece of their crew was coming together, and it made sense.

 

Until Gavin joined, none of it really seemed right. It was good, sure, and Michael was happier than he can ever remember being in his whole life, but they'd always felt a little too much like a puzzle with a piece missing. Then, Gavin showed up on their doorstep with nothing but his phone and the change in his pocket, and everything came together.

 

Michael is slow to trust-- always has been-- but he let his guard down and suddenly, Gavin was next to him like he was handmade for the empty space at Michael's side, and, admittedly, they didn't mind it. Jeremy says, “God, get a room!” and Gavin laughs and shoves Michael, and Michael stares in that curious way he does.

 

He likes Gavin, has for longer than he thought he would, and maybe he has a hard time telling the difference between his Gavin, and this character Gavin has created.

 

Because, the Golden Boy is charming, he smiles and steals your heart, and your money and your life, and he's so gorgeous you almost want to thank him for it with your last breath. He'll draw his gun faster than you can open your mouth to say anything, _something_ , but this boy won't use it. He won't, because it'd get blood on his expensive clothes and shoes, and he won't like the mess.

 

Except, Gavin has a whole closet of clothes for _Gavin_ , and he'll go to some boutique and buy another few shirts for the Golden Boy, and Michael will hold his tongue. He'll want to ask Gavin if it's easy for him to tell the difference between himself and his persona; if he ever wakes up and has to decide who he wants to be. Or, rather, can he just turn the Golden Boy on with a blink.

 

Even with his mask and face paint on, Ryan is still Ryan. Michael looks at him and recognises him as Ryan, but Gavin puts product in his hand, and wears a gold watch, and smiles like he could eat you whole if you wanted, and Michael doesn't know when the Golden Boy blurred the line between necessary business precaution and _Gavin_ , but he did.

 

The Golden Boy is a sharp tongue, an expensive wardrobe, a voice so smooth and warm you'll want to drown in it, and he's dangerous. He grabs a weapon and doesn't think twice about it, and there's never any look in his face or eyes that Michael can find with Gavin. This Golden Boy moves like he's lighter than air, and says stuff like, “I liked this shirt!” when he gets shot, and Michael looks at the smile on his face and the blood on his hands, and feels sick. This is not his Gavin, the one that is smooth but terrifyingly calm, and who would blow up a building around him just to watch it come down.

 

But, Gavin is all mused hair, slightly brown and natural when he drops the Golden Boy and doesn't bother dyeing his hair, and a clumsy voice, with an accent and a certain dopiness to it. This is the version Michael knows best, the one that falls asleep next to him and plays video games, and makes them order takeout from this place on the corner because they can't say no to him. He says things like, “Michael, boi! Let me kiss you!” and he’ll be smiling so genuinely, but it'll be comfortable and familiar.

 

Michael loves him, this Gavin.

 

He has since they met, he thinks, maybe a little. He doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that, but Gavin found his way into Michael's heart so quickly that Michael wouldn't be surprised if it was since they met. He shook his hand, took his name, took his number, took his heart, and Michael isn't the easiest person to get to know (Jack says he's all teeth and claws, not something gentle) but Gavin could've written Michael's biography only a few weeks after meeting him.

 

Geoff said, “An old friend called, needed a place to stay so I said he could crash here, no arguments,” and Michael folded his arms over his chest but didn't say anything.

 

Then, they heard a knock and a stranger's 'hello?’, and Michael hung back behind the others because he wasn't sure. Jeremy says he's like a stray cat, feed them and slowly gain their trust, but Gavin tripped in the door, and Michael cracked a small smile. It was funny, until he got a good look at this stranger's face and stared for so long he was sure Gavin's face was permanently imprinted in his mind.

 

“I'm Gavin! You must be Michael,” came sudden, the accent and way he said Michael's name instantly tightening Michael's chest. In a good and bad way, because he wasn't sure what to make of this man standing out of place in their base, but he was cute, and his voice was as he said, “Geoff's told me great things about you, I'm--”

 

“What the fuck did you call me?” Michael asked, listening for the small wheeze of Geoff's laughter behind them.

 

That's how they lived, with Michael sitting near Gavin but not talking to him, until a week passed and Gavin was so young, so loud and rambunctious, that Michael found himself searching for him in every room. He's too cautious, and ready to assume the worst, but he couldn't, even with British assholes who force their friendship on you and you can't even complain.

 

But, there's something unsettling about someone like Gavin; someone who could have whatever they want, but instead chooses this, chooses _them_. He had a good thing going back home in England, he says one day, with a friend named Dan and a cat, and Michael swallows awkwardly in the silence that follows after he asks why Gavin left, then.

 

“Dan wanted to do other things,” he admitted, offering a smile that was gone as fast as Michael could blink. It seemed fake, like something he didn't want to talk about, but Michael's always been too pushy and curious for his own good.

 

“And you weren't part of those things?”

 

Gavin lowered his head, hair falling across his face, then closed his eyes for a moment. “Guess not, Michael.”

 

It broke his heart. The tone in Gavin's voice, it broke his heart. And, he didn't know what to do, so he passed him a gaming controller and challenged him to a game, and Gavin smiled with a look so thankful that it was all Michael could do to not fall in love with him right then and there. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had, and he thinks about it now, and maybe he remembers that moment so clearly because Gavin was hurt.

 

For the first time, and not on a job or a heist. Just because people left and found other things, they moved on-- and Gavin had been left behind by someone he loved. Everyone can relate to that, just a little.

 

*

 

Gavin fits in well with the rest of the crew, even though they take a little time to warm up to him; he tells Michael one day he gets it, that being cautious in this line of work is a good thing. Michael stares at his lap and his unfinished tattoos and manages a quiet, ‘yeah’, because saying anything is better than saying nothing at all, and Gavin doesn’t like the quiet. He says, ‘Tell a joke, fill the silence,’ to Ray during a heist and offers, ‘it scares me,’ as an explanation.

 

On the car ride home from that same heist, everyone either sleeping or glaring at the window. It’s deathly silent, even with sirens and car horns sounding in the distance, and Michael doesn’t mind it but, he thinks about Gavin. He thinks about his voice, maybe joking but maybe not, and the soft strain in his voice as he said, ‘it scares me’.

 

Michael looks at Gavin, who looks uneasy, with a hand in his freshly bleached hair, teeth chewing at his bottom lip, and what little beard he has growing in nicely. Then, Michael turns to Ryan, knowing Gavin’s attention is suddenly on him, and says, ‘Got enough cash to splash on a new mask?’

 

The silence is filled, just for long enough for them to get home and throw themselves tiredly on their couch and their beds, and Gavin, standing by the door like he doesn’t know what to do. He’s been staying at a place he got for himself a few weeks after he arrived, with some money Geoff lent him for the first few months of rent, and maybe they forgot, or they were tired, but Gavin doesn’t sleep at base like they do.

 

“You good?” Michael asks, even though finding the energy to talk is too much. “You can--”

 

“You mind if I bunk with you?”

 

Michael stares, blinks, then nods. His curls are long in his face from the rain and his glasses are smudged where he’s clumsily tried to wipe them on his shirt, but he sees Gavin’s small smile even through his hair and blurred vision. The sight of Gavin, soaked from the rain and skittish because he’s not used to this, is enough to make something unfamiliar stir in Michael’s chest.

 

“The room furthest down the hall, can’t miss it.”

 

Gavin softly grabs his arm as a thanks on his way past, pausing for a moment like he wants to say something but composing his exhausted self and walking off, and Michael wonders how he got so lucky. How this boy, who’s like gold, something Michael would happily spend his whole life searching for, fell into his lap, and how he stayed; and, he loves him, of course he does.

 

He loves him so much, he wants to grab him and hold him, and fill every silence with laughter and jokes. Isn’t that what love is?

 

*

 

“Oh, bloody-- oh, _fuck me_.”

 

“No one wants to have sex with you, Gavin.”

 

*

 

When Ray leaves, Gavin is suddenly distant and quiet, like everything he hates, and for once, he doesn’t tell a funny made-up story to blur out the lack of atmosphere. Michael sits in his room for three days, and someone knocks but they don’t come in, and Gavin lets himself in and sits on Michael’s bed and says, ‘I’m here if you need it, boi.’ Then, he leaves.

 

“Give him some time,” Jack says, like Michael didn’t just lose someone he’s been friends since before the crew even started up.

 

He and Ray go way back, and the others are allowed to be upset about it, sure, but he feels like someone strapped him to a table, shoved their hand down his throat to his chest, and ripped his heart all the way back up through his mouth. Like the worst possible pain he can imagine, like worse than Ryan dragging him out of the ocean and pressing on him until he’s coughing out seawater.

 

Gavin is himself in a few days, but there’s that look behind his eye that doesn’t seem to go away. Michael hadn’t seen him like that before then, and as time goes on, it gets worse, and Gavin gets worse, but he still has all of them wrapped around his finger and they love him for it.

 

Michael, especially.

 

He’s never been shy with love, as long as he knows for sure it’s there, but Gavin joins him on the balcony after they haven’t spoken in three days, and joins their fingers together. Their hands are warm, palms pressed against the other’s, as they stare out at the city, _their_ city. And, Michael can lose everything but this. Ray, that’ll get better over time, but he can’t fathom waking up and looking out his window, and everything they’ve built being gone.

 

Everything Geoff has put so much work into, just to look after his boys and Jack, and make sure they’re safe and cared for. Michael can’t lose this, god, he can’t lose this, because it’s all he’s ever had; Los Santos, this job, this apartment, these people who have come to become more like family than blood ever could be. Ray left, but everyone else is still here, and they’re more thankful that he left by choice, and not in a bodybag after a job gone wrong.

 

“You still think about him?” Gavin asks, like the answer isn’t obvious. But, he doesn’t let go of Michael’s hand, and Michael is so thankful for that that he can’t even find a word for it.

 

“We all do,” he admits, feeling the way Gavin’s hand wriggles in his for a second, squeezing in a comforting gesture. “But he chose to leave, nothing we can do about it.”

 

Gavin hums beside him thoughtfully, his hair less blonde than usual, and Michael likes how he looks like this-- the brightest thing for miles even compared to the lights of the city, his feet weightless as they hang off the balcony, his shirt loose and hanging off his collarbones, a tired, youthfulness a contradiction in his features.

 

He’s gotten older in the time they’ve spent together but he’s still Gavin, in every way, even though these days he seems more Golden Boy than he does himself.

 

“You still miss him?” Michael swallows, focussed on the way Gavin's features instantly harden.

 

“I miss everyone who leaves, Michael.”

 

*

 

Gavin tells Michael once that he used to be part of another crew and that it didn’t well, and Michael knows he’s saying that because he’s scared the same will happen with the Fakes. They’ve been around for years, since Geoff was younger and more patient, and Michael won’t deny that the same thought’s passed his mind far too many times, like during a deal they know won’t work out well, or before he goes to sleep and his fears begin to set in in the dark of his room.

 

It’s hard not to think about, he’ll admit, because people come and go, and eventually, one of them will find something better and they’ll go. And, Michael will have to pick up those pieces of himself again. People leave, and every time they do, he sits on his balcony staring out at the city and tries not to be made about it; because, when people die, or in this case, leave, you’re meant to remember the good times.

 

You’re meant to think back on it all and recall all the happy moments you shared, like it makes the wound sting less because once you had something good. Michael tries it when Ray leaves and it doesn’t work, instead he gets a new tattoo to have something to focus on, and he robs a convenience store too close to their building because he’s mad. Nothing says anger like holding a worker at gunpoint over a counter as they shakily shove money into Michael’s beanie, and there’s nothing better for getting rid of steam like making shody shots at police officers out your car window.

 

That’s how he deals with anger, he knows it’s slightly different for the others because they don’t get mad like he does. Jack gets real quiet, and she’ll walk into Geoff’s penthouse with her hair cut dramatically shorter, and Ryan will sit outside and sharpen his knives until he’s been staring so intently at the wall, Jack drags him inside to sleep. Jeremy laughs, like it doesn’t bother him, and it’s almost admirable how good he is at holding it all in; how good he is at holding all his broken pieces together. Geoff yells, he swears, he throws things, and they all stare at the ground.

 

Michael’s seen Gavin angry only once, but it’s clearer in his memory than things that only happened last week. It was during a deal, Gavin’s Golden Boy still new to them all, his hair brown but dyed slightly lighter, and Michael was standing in the corner next to the Vagabond making sure nothing went wrong.

 

Everything went wrong.

 

It was Gavin slamming his hand down on the table he was standing at that shocked Michael’s attention to him, glancing up through his curls. He couldn’t read the face of the man across from Gavin, but he could see the way Gavin had tensed up, even with his view only allowing him to see Gavin’s back. It was odd, unsettling in a way, to see this boy he usually knew as calm and moronic, hitting his fist against a wooden table. Beside Michael, Ryan had his mask on, but his head slightly tilted like he was trying to examine the situation.

 

“You must be having a laugh,” Gavin said, a scary calm to his voice. He laughed, slowly, and Michael could see one of his hands inching to his hip where his gun was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “That’s not _bloody_ well good enough, Nova. I told Geoff--”

 

“We gonna have a problem here?” Another guy, tall but only just more than Gavin, blonde hair and an accent that wasn’t fully American. He was wearing a singlet under an unzipped thin, black jacket, and Michael recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t pinpoint where. A past meeting maybe, or from photos someone had shown him. “Maybe you should leave, tell Geoff we can do this another time, to send someone else.”

 

Michael pushed himself away from the wall, walking past Ryan and another member of the other’s crew to make his way to Gavin. It was unfamiliar, having to step in, especially with Gavin in charge of handling the negotiations-- because, he was so good at what he did that the others only tacked on in case someone drew a gun, Michael and Ryan weren’t there to do any talking.

 

“That really won’t be necessary, we can take care of this while we’re here.”

 

“Then tell your guy to chill his shit, man!” The bleached blonde, arms previously crossed over his chest unfolded to gesture accusingly at Gavin.

 

The deal was a mess after that, with no one really too willing to make an attempt to settle anything, and Michael was watching them argue back-and-forth, eyes darting so often they almost hurt. It was exhausting, and by the time they left, Gavin’s face was so pale he looked like he might pass out, but there was a look in his eye that told Michael he was far from being over what had just happened. He was still relatively new to the crew, after showing up, and it wasn’t right of him to be worrying like he was about not being useful because he was, but Michael understood it. He’d felt the same when he’d joined, still does sometimes.

 

Outside the warehouse, they lingered outside the door, Gavin breathing heavily, face now red, and when he smacked his palm against the brick wall, Michael nearly jumped. It was unexpected and something he was used to, his gaze drifting to Ryan to gauge his reaction.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Gavin, hands tugging at his hair, his watch falling down his skinny wrist to closer to his elbow. He looked more like a cross between disappointed and irritated than he did angry, but the way it twisted his features was unfamiliar in itself. He was usually laughing, even when he got shot once on a heist and Jack was trying to tell him the bullet was going to be painful to get to; it was like seeing him vulnerable, and Michael gave a small nod to Ryan like he could handle it.

 

“Gav,” Michael said, taking a step towards him. “Hey, you can’t beat yourself up about this, okay? You did good, those guys were assholes, it isn’t your fault. No one’s mad at you for it not working out.”

 

“Geoff’s going to kill me, Michael, he’s going to--”

 

Deal’s went wrong, they just did, they all knew that, and this deal wasn’t that important but it was still meant to go right. Every deal was, even though it was too unrealistic an expectation to assume things would go their way every time, despite Gavin being able to literally and figuratively talk his way out of a cardboard box. Before him, they’d managed deals on their own, usually with Jack and Geoff taking the lead, but they had a better chance of it working out if they sent Gavin.

 

It was too much pressure, surely.

 

“Geoff’s not going to be mad, Gavin. For _fuck’s_ sake, yeah? Should’ve seen me on my first heist, I triggered the wrong building to blow and nearly blew a million dollar take for us. It was our biggest heist, even now, and I almost fucked the whole thing up because I was young and stupid, and too eager to impress. Geoff wasn’t mad about that, he won’t be mad about this.”

 

Gavin said, “Thanks, Michael, boi,” and that was that, but he was more careful after that. Michael woke up from dreams where that deal went wrong and Gavin was mad, and ended up going home with a bullet in his head instead of just returning to Geoff with nothing. It was worrying, how fast things could go wrong, and it made it all so much clearer how lost Michael would be if Gavin ever left; if he lost Gavin, he’d lost the rest of the crew, and the thought was enough to keep him awake at night.

 

And Gavin, sitting beside Michael now, his feet swinging off a bridge and Michael with his own tucked up on the concrete, says, “I don’t want to go back to England.” Like, it’s the easier thing in the world to say, or it makes the most sense when only a few moments they were comparing scars and making ridiculous reasons they had them.

 

‘I don’t want to go back to England’ means: _England sucked so I’m happier here_ , and, _I don’t want to lose everything I have here._

 

Michael looks at him, Gavin’s attention focused on the water running below, shaping around rocks, and says, “Yeah, I don’t want you to either.”

 

*

 

Years pass, and they do less heists but the ones they do choose to do earn them more money. Jeremy joins the crew and fits into the place left there by someone else, and Gavin bursts into hysterics the first time he hears about Rimmy Tim. They all do, but Gavin nearly falls off his chair, and he says something through soft laughter about how purple and orange go hideously together.

 

But, Jeremy fits in, and Ryan takes to him especially, even though under the mask they can tell he's rolling as his eyes at everything Jeremy says.

 

Jack and Geoff somehow get closer, like everyone knew they would; because they're Geoff and Jack, Jack and Geoff, and they work so well together it's like they've known each other for a hundred years. They place bets on them, Jeremy's idea, and even though it feels wrong to, Michael wouldn't mind the extra cash. And, Jack is flowing her fingers through her red hair the first time Michael says, 'You and Geoff banged yet?’

 

The Golden Boy shows up so often, with a gold chain around his neck, shoes so shiny they sparkle in the sunlight coming through the windows of Geoff's penthouse.

 

Gavin is there at night, sleepy against Michael in the back of a van after a heist or during a stakeout, but eventually that turns to distance. Eventually, Michael stares at the back of Gavin's head on the drive and wonders when what they had became avoiding each other.

 

Michael avoids Gavin because he's in love with him, and the sight of Gavin soft and injured after a heist is almost too much to deal with.

 

Gavin avoids Michael because Ray left, because Michael set off an explosive in a rival team's warehouse and Gavin ran back in to see what it would look like, and, because this Golden Boy seems to be around more often than not, and it's no secret that Michael doesn't like him. Michael likes Gavin, and because he likes him, he lets this Golden Boy tag along; he's useful and charismatic, and everyone underestimates him.

 

Gavin, who has has ash and soot in his hair, chalked in so thick, Michael wonders how many showers it'll take him to wash it out. They're in Ryan's car after a heist, cheering and laughing, and Gavin's in the passenger seat staring at his reflection in the window to his right like if he looks long enough, it'll move on its own.

 

Michael doesn't say anything, because he doesn't know how and because he wouldn't know how to fix something even if it was only broken in two. He ruins things, like cars, buildings, people, but he's never stopped for long enough to learn how to put them back together. He wants to ask, he does, but the words lodge in his throat like a bone, and sometimes things like these are better left unspoken.

 

Gavin looks nice in his jacket, Michael's, and the way it’s cowered around his shoulders, one hand peeking out to hold it close to him. There's something scary in his eye, like he knows something they don't, like he's a hundred years old and he's just been told he's going to die, and Michael turns away, looks instead at Geoff in the seat next to him.

 

They're laughing and happy, and the rain has made Ryan's face paint run in uneven patches down his face, but he throws his head back, and Michael runs a hand through his own wet curls.

 

After heists are always the best part, because they're tired and spent, but they're happy and loud in the quiet of this part of the city. Being here, with them, fills Michael with a happiness he knows he'll never find again, that if he ever is unfortunate enough to end up without these people-- his _family_ \-- then this happiness will remain a distant memory.

 

Jack's red hair flows around her in the wind, her small, satisfied smile, a welcome sight. She nudges Michael after a moment, turning from her view out the car window to look at him, and says, “You did some good work today.”

 

Jeremy's voice floats from the driver's seat, a lilt of humour to his words as he says, “Pretty good work for a fucker!”

 

It's the normal, vulgar language they're used to, and in some silent way it communicates that they're okay. They're giggling like naughty teenagers who are sneaking off somewhere without their parents’ permission, not well-known criminals who have just pulled off one Los Santos’ biggest heists ever. But, they're okay, even with sirens dull in their ears from being too close to gunfire.

 

Michael was the closest to the explosions, which is why he doesn't hear Gavin, in the passenger seat, lean over to Jeremy and say, “Make a stop at my place?” Until, Jeremy repeats what Gavin said and asks if he's going home, and Gavin's eyes are dark as he nods.

 

“You're not coming to Geoff's with us?” Michael asks, leaning forward in his seat, lack of a seatbelt a blessing. His voice is more disappointed sounding than he wants it to be, but he keeps talking, like he can find a reason for Gavin to come with them. “We were going to get takeout from the place down the road that you like.”

 

“I'm tired, Michael,” Gavin whispers, turning slightly in seat to meet Michael's curious gaze. “Just wanna go home and have a good night's sleep, boi.”

 

They drive the rest of the way in almost silence, other than the sound of soft music being played through Ryan's speakers, and Michael is surprised Gavin doesn't reach the small distance to turn it up. Around them, the chaos in the city following their heist has grown quiet, ambulance and police cars driving past without their sirens on.

 

Gavin's apartment is a small place he bought years ago, when he first joined the crew, and it's a total shithole but Gavin has it decorated with minimalist furniture and trinkets. Michael tells him every time, “This place is hideous,” and Gavin shrugs with a small smile.

 

The first time Ryan had seen it, he'd looked confused, and said, “ _This_ is where you live?”

 

They'd laughed, and Gavin had made a noise that indicated his surprise and offence, and they'd laughed even more. His place was nice, despite the sound of neighbours and its difficult location in a crowded place of town a few blocks from Geoff's, and Gavin seemed to take a liking to it that none of them could really understand.

 

Jeremy stops outside Gavin's building, and Michael is leaning over Jack and reaching for the car door handle before he can help himself. He tugs on it and practically falls across Jack's lap in his clumsy attempt to get out, watching the way Gavin is staring at him.

 

“You coming up, Michael?”

 

“Yeah,” Michael replies, winces as he lands on solid ground. “Figured someone should make sure your dumbass makes it up there.”

 

There's a look on Gavin's face that he can't decipher, then Gavin is tightening Michael's jacket around himself and smiling wide at him. It's a weird sight, and something Michael's only ever seen during negotiations with the Golden Boy at his side. The way Gavin can turn on his fake joy is terrifying, even considerably more so with the dark bags under his eyes.

 

“I'll come back for you,” Ryan offers, and Jeremy shuffles out of the driver's seat to let Ryan in. “Unless, you're staying?”

 

Ryan's words are hesitant, though humorous, and Michael knows if he does stay, he'd never hear the end of it. Jeremy would tease and ask about it, and Geoff would give him that 'this idiot is like my son, don't hurt him’ fond look that he's only used a handful of times. Jack would press and prod like a mother does, and Michael would have to fend off every question like the thought of being with Gavin doesn't make his heart stop.

 

“I'll meet you back here in ten?” Michael answers, catching, in the corner of his eye, Gavin deflate slightly.

 

“Call me if plans change?”

 

“Yeah, I will.”

 

Gavin moves and wraps his fingers softly around Michael's wrist, tugging him out of the rain and under the cover of the building. Then, inside, where it's much warmer than it is outside,and the warmth still feels cold against the bare areas of Michael's rain-soaked skin.

 

The elevator takes longer than either of them expect, but they get in and wait, and Gavin's eyelashes are holding droplets of water in them like stars, the light reflecting off them. His hair mussed with rain but filthy with chalk and concrete powder, makes him look like a wreck. A pretty wreck, Michael thinks, because Gavin always looks good, even when others wouldn't.

 

“Thought for a second I left my keys in Ryan's car,” Gavin says, interrupting the silence as he pulls them from his pocket. His features are tinged with unease, but he appears otherwise okay. “Bloody well thought we'd have to call him back here.”

 

“Lucky you found them.’

 

When the lift doors open, they're slow to move out them, but the presence of carpet under Michael's feet is a welcome sight. He's had enough of danger for one day, of being somewhere he knows he has some chance of not making it out of; lifts feel claustrophobic after a heist, which is why he mostly takes the stairs.

 

But, Gavin likes the elevator. _Idiot_.

 

Michael waits behind Gavin as he slowly turns his keys in his door, and he waits for the click that allows them entry, before he pushes the door further aside for Gavin. He tries to avoid things like this after a job, and Gavin doesn't seem to notice that Michael is still standing in the hall because he doesn't say anything as he enters his apartment.

 

Michael lingers in Gavin's doorway for too long, he knows, and Gavin turns to look at him, bruised and battered, and his shoulders look heavy. Too heavy, like he has the weight of everything settled on them, and it's not fair how much Michael looks at him like that and wants to kiss him; Gavin looks small, young, tired, and Michael wants to--

 

“Coming in?” Gavin asks, dripping rainwater onto his own floor.

 

Michael trips over his own feet, his own words, and doesn't want to have to face Gavin's sad eyes when he says he has to leave. He's been asked to stay so many times and never have, and how he feels about it has gone well beyond guilt at this point. He feels like he's letting Gavin down, forcing him to deal with everything alone while the rest of them celebrate together, and Michael can't move.

 

There's a bruise on Gavin's cheek that looks sore, and Gavin has made himself small, hurt reflected in his features. He's too used to being left behind, maybe, and Michael isn't quite sure why he hasn't just turned and run before Gavin is staring at him, and his words cut through the silence.

 

“Stay?”

 

Gavin is broken, and standing in front of Michael he looks like ruin in its purest form, and maybe it's bad how much more it makes Michael want to kiss him. He thinks about his hands in Gavin's dirty hair, his fingers pressing on the tender bruises blossoming on Gavin's tan skin, and moves his foot forward ever so slightly like if he doesn't leave, he'll kiss Gavin. He wants to, can't stop thinking about it, and it's _bad_.

 

It's bad how much he wants it, he knows. It's bad, dangerous, how good Gavin looks when he's tired and damaged; and how close the words 'I love you’ are to spilling out of Michael's mouth. He wraps his tongue back and bites his bottom lip, and thinks instead about how easily he could fuck this up by kissing Gavin.

 

“Have a good night, Gav; you can keep my jacket until tomorrow,” he manages, and the doorknob burns white hot in his hand as he pulls the door closed on Gavin's quiet, beginning sobs.

 

It hurts, closing the door and leaving, but he doesn't even bother waiting for the elevator, just pushes open the stairwell door and walks down them as fast as he can without tripping. Ryan's waiting outside with his car, ready to drive Michael home, and he's been standing outside in the rain because Michael stood for too long in Gavin's doorway.

 

“Everything okay?” Ryan asks, as Michael throws himself through the front doors of the apartment building and walks back to the car, head tucked down against the rain. The car doors are unlocked so he tugs it open and waits for the warm breath of Ryan's heating to engulf him.

 

“I wanna go home,” Michael says, “Just-- fucking take me home, Ryan.”

 

“What the fuck happened up there?”

 

“Just go, Ryan. Go.”

 

*

 

They celebrate on the balcony of Geoff's penthouse with bottles of expensive beer, and Geoff gives a small speech about how well they all did. There's a spot beside Michael where Gavin would fit so well, and his avoids looking to the side for too long because it feels wrong.

 

Gavin should be there, and they all know it because they all fall silent the moment Geoff mentions his name. Michael, especially, who sips at his drink with his mouth numb and his tongue tasteless. Because, he should go back to Gavin, but, he doesn't because he's not the type to stick through the bad. He'll take the daytime happiness and the post-heist thankfulness, but he doesn't want to think about Gavin, all alone in that apartment of his, soaking wet and wrapped in Michael's jacket.

 

“Gavin didn't want to join?”

 

Michael looks up, swallowing his last mouthful of beer to address the person walking up to him.

 

“Nah, had better things to do than get drunk with us lot,” he offers, and hopes his lie doesn't sound as transparent and hollow to Jack as it does to himself. “Big job today, dumbass probably needed to catch up on the sleep he missed while he was worrying about today.”

 

“He ask you to stay with him?”

 

Michael laughs, and ducks his head slightly, with his damp curls falling around his face, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Doesn't he always, Jack?”

 

Jack frowns at Michael, and her shirt is clinging to her with rainwater, her waves in her face, but even with flat hair, he can see her raise a curious eyebrow. “You ever think about saying yes?”

 

Michael feels like the air's been stolen from around him, and his stomach has lost contact with gravity, and Jack is still watching him curiously. Ryan's asked before, plenty of times, and Michael says he doesn't have the time, or he hates the colour of Gavin's walls and doesn't want to have to look at them. But, with Jack, there's not escaping talking about it.

 

“Jack--”

 

Geoff comes over, then, completely sober, and rests his arm across the back of Jack's shoulders, smiling at her for a brief second before turning his attention to Michael. There's something like a cross between disapproval and pity in his face, and it almost hurts to look at.

 

“You love that boy? You _tell_ him,” Geoff says, a glass of something bitter and non-alcoholic in his hand. “Don’t waste his time-- I'm talking from personal fuckin’ experience here, kid.”

 

“You're being a shithead,” Michael chokes out, his own words running away from him. Everything feels too suddenly real, and he shakes his head to accentuate his point, trying not to focus on the alarms currently bouncing around in his head. “I don't _love_ Gavin; he's a fucking nuisance, Geoff.”

 

“It's your funeral.”

 

Michael swallows, like he's gulping for air with his head above the water to keep from drowning. His thoughts are running through his mind at two times the normal speed, his heart thudding against his chest as if it's trying to escape. Everything feels like it's trying to take flight, but Michael's glued to his seat and unable to move.

 

“He's right,” Jack shrugs. “You want to make this mistake, go ahead. But, think it through first, make sure you know just what you're doing.”

 

“Gavin's place is only ten minutes away if the traffic is thin,” Ryan chips in from where he's sitting close to the balcony with Jeremy, both glaring out at the city.

 

Michael shakes his head, again, and listens for the dull click of his bottle against the table as he sets it down. “You're all assholes,” he says, but he's reaching for his car keys before any of them can reply, and he stands up without any real knowledge of what he's doing. His brain is focusing on one word-- Gavin-- and the rest feels like a blur.

 

His beer hasn't caught up with him yet, and maybe it's lucky he didn't drink more than a few sips, but he pushes open the door of Geoff's place and pulls it shut behind him. His breathing has steadied, slightly, but his hands are shaking so hard his whole body feels like an earthquake.

 

_Gavin_ , his brain says, and he waits for the elevator because that's what Gavin would do.

 

*

 

Michael wants to make a home out of these people, and maybe he already has, and maybe it's not four walls and a roof, but it feels safer than any of that ever has.

 

*

 

His hand is heavy against the door, his fist banging carelessly as he waits, and waits, and waits. Inside the silence, he can't hear any signs of Gavin in the apartment, and Michael wants to turn and leave. This is embarrassing, standing here still damp from the rain with his curls and drops on his glasses, and he wishes the floor would open up beneath him.

 

He waits three minutes, nervous and trying to keep from knocking more than he should, because maybe this was a bad idea. Gavin doesn't feel the same, he just didn't want to be lonely, and Michael's feet have glued him to the spot so he's not sure he could move even if that was the case.

 

Them, suddenly, the door is opening, only so slightly, and Gavin's face is sad and tired, Michael's dumb jacket baggy on his small frame.

 

“Michael? What’re you doing here?”

 

A beat passes, then another, and Michael finally learns to breathe again when Gavin leans closer. He looks worried, his features soft and younger in the dim light of the hallway, and Michael can feel his heart skip as he falls in love even more. God, he's too far gone to even consider lying about why he's here, he knows that.

 

“I'm staying,” he says, another nervous tremor shaking his whole body as his voice is strangled from his throat. “You asked me to stay, Gav, so I'm here to stay.”

 

Gavin stares, and stares some more, and Michael can feel the colour slowly drain from his face. There's something unnerving settling in the small space between them, Michael almost wanting to reach out to bring Gavin closer but worried about what Gavin would do. Michael wants this, has for too long, and he just wants Gavin to step aside and let him in; let him stay, give him that chance, at least.

 

Then, Gavin says his name, accent making a parody of it, and it sounds so soft, so quiet and scared, that Michael's blood suddenly runs cold through his veins.

 

“Michael,” he breathes, a bruised hand, with Michael's jacket sleeve falling down his wrist, grasping onto the door. “You want to come in?”

 

There's a moment of hesitancy where they both stand there, unsure of what to do, and Gavin is staring at Michael with wide, soft eyes. It's the same look he gets when Michael says he has to leave, but it holds a certain curiosity that Michael isn't used to; nor has he seen it before. But, he settles his eyes on his jacket loose fitting on Gavin and can't find the will to ruin this.

 

Until, Gavin clears his throat, whether to fill the silence or because he needed to or Michael was taking too long to answer. But it pulls Michael back into the moment, reminding him that they need to talk, and he's here for something other than standing here in Gavin's doorway.

 

“Yeah,” he finally manages to say, and Gavin's face lights up in thankfulness.

 

Gavin's apartment is mostly tidy, with a few dirty mugs sitting on their side in the sink, and he has a decent view of the city from his kitchen. It's nice, and familiar from all their gaming nights spent drinking on Gavin's couch, and Michael let's himself have a look of the whole place before he turns to meet Gavin's gaze.

 

“What are you doing here, Michael?” pulls him away from where he's been staring out the window, and it takes him off guard. His eyebrows tug down, his hands not sure what to do at his side's, and he knows that if he were to talk right now, his words wouldn't sound all that right.

 

“Nothin',” he lies.

 

Gavin knows lying better than everyone, Michael's not a fool, because the whole of his Golden Boy persona relies on doing exactly that. He tricks people every time he dresses up, and his lies are so smooth, sometimes Michael thinks that if he didn't know better, Gavin would be able to get him with it too.

 

But, he knows better. He knows _Gavin_ , and his heart feels ten times bigger in his chest at this moment. He doesn't know the Golden Boy-- none of them truly do-- but he knows Gavin, and he loves what he knows. All of it.

 

“Michael--” And, he sounds tired, voice thick with what sounds like sleep and past tears, and it's a horrible sound. It's horrible, because Michael knows he did it.

 

“I'm here because you asked me to be, okay? You fuckin’ asked me to stay, so I am, because that's what you wanted,” he says, and he sounds much angrier when he speaks than how he feels. He feels embarrassed, like he's putting himself out here for nothing and Gavin doesn't even care. He doesn't care, after so, so long of asking and waiting, and now that he's finally getting a semblance of what he asked for, he couldn't care less.

 

“You didn't stay when I asked,” is a careful reply.

 

“Well, I took some time to think about it,” Michael says, an edge in his tone, “and realised that maybe I'm an asshole who never stays at his best friend's place anymore. Or, an asshole who leaves when his best friend needs him most, which is, yeah, it's shitty, Gavin. And I'm sorry, but I'm staying now.”

 

An anxiety-inducing silence follows, Gavin looking anywhere but at Michael, chewing his lip as he considers Michael’s words. It’s scary, to be vulnerable like that with someone and apologise, then have then do nothing but stare, no giveaway on their face of how they feel about it. The uncertainty and innocence on Gavin’s features fades, and Michael lifts his gaze to meet his, swallowing his nerves.

 

“You’ll stay the night?”

 

“Yeah, Gav. Of course.”

 

*

 

Waking up in another bed other than his own is weird, and Michael reaches his hand out to find his glasses with an arm tucked around his waist, a warm chest pressed to his back. It’s not unpleasant, but, it’s bittersweet, almost, and he feels his heart swell with affection as it typically does when he’s around Gavin. He wants a drink, his throat and mouth feeling dry, and as he goes to move, has a hand tighten in the back of his shirt.

 

“Michael, you leaving?”

 

Gavin looks tired, his hair sticking up at weird angles, his eyebags dark and heavy until his eyes, and his t-shirt is hanging off one shoulder. He looks nice, Michael thinks, and doesn’t want to get too used to the sight so turns away, reaching down on the floor for his pair of jeans crumpled up on Gavin’s bedroom floor carpet.

 

“Gotta meet Geoff,” he mutters, pulling his jeans up his legs. There’s a noise behind him that sounds like Gavin stretching and getting up, and Michael turns to catch him walking out of the room, his long shirt making up for his lack of pants. He sighs, and shouts,“Where you going?”

 

“I have to piss!” Gavin says back, loud, and it sounds so indignant that Michael has to laugh. “You invasive bastard.”

 

_You love that boy, you tell him._

 

Michael breathes, pieces of last night coming back to him, and wants to think of a reason to leave but can’t. He could make up a dentist appointment or a visit to see Lindsey, because she’s long since quit the crew but she’s a friend, but somehow, he can’t find a reason to really leave. He should, he knows, before he’s a fool and tells Gavin he loves him, but part of him wants to stay and have breakfast, and pretend for a morning that they’re in love.

 

It’s unlike the usual love he feels for Gavin, where it feels hopeless and stupid, and he tries not to hold onto it because there’s no way anything will ever happen between them. This, however, feels like _something_ , maybe, and Michael is surprised by how much he wants it to mean anything other than friends being friends.

 

Gavin wanting him to stay when he’s never asked the others too, that’s something. It has to be, because Michael is just about ready to lose his mind over how much he loves Gavin. Over how much he’s in love with him, after so many years of knowing him and wanting to kiss him but not being able to, this has to mean something other than friends being friends. It really, really has to.

 

“Hungry?” Gavin’s voice calls from the kitchen, and Michael grips the bed with his tight fists, trying not to think about anything other than friendship.

 

“Yeah, what’ve you got?”

 

A shadow blocks the doorway, a cautious glance revealing a smiling, tired Gavin, and the sight of it almost makes Michael’s heart thud out of his chest. God, he’s so far gone, too far gone, and this is reminiscent of all the other times Gavin simply smiled at Michael and it made him fall even more in love.

 

“We could skip breakfast? Get some lunch?” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “There’s an alright place ‘round the corner, the food is absolutely top if you wanna go. I’m proper sure I have a menu in my kitchen drawers somewhere, accidentally stole it last time I was there--”

 

“I’m in love with you.”

 

“... Michael?”

 

_Shit, shit, shit-_

 

“I said, yeah, sure,” he says, then half-heartedly adds, “But if the food is shit, I’ll stab you with my fork, you asshole.”

 

“Michael.”

 

_Shit, shit, shit-_ Michael breathes out shakily, his jeans still unzipped and resting on his hips, his curly hair messy from sleep. He gets a proper look at Gavin, who’s watching him, nothing disgusted on his face, just confusion and a certain softness, and for a moment finds it easier to breathe. Gavin could’ve blown up at him or freaked out, or kicked him out, but he’s looking like he’s not entirely sure he heard right, and a small sense of relief flushes over Michael.

 

“You’re in love with me?”

 

Gavin moves, footsteps quiet, and the bed squeaks as he sits down on it next to Michael. His hand curls in the covers before moving softly over to touch Michael’s own hand, still holding tight onto the side of the bed. The quiet is too quiet, but something about it is somehow comfortable and promising. And, even though Gavin has expressed so many times how much he hates how the lack of sound makes him feel, he makes no attempt to fill it.

 

The under of his eyes show the tug of exhaustion, purple and tiring, and Michael only realises Gavin’s staring at him when he squeezes Michael’s hand and smiles at him. It’s soft, and something about it warms the cold around Michael’s heart. Even more so when Gavin moves to sit closer and leans in, his warm fingers delicate and barely there on Michael’s cheek. The kiss is only just there, obvious nerves making Gavin hold back, but it’s a comfort Michael didn’t know he needed.

 

“Alright, boi?”

 

Michael softens a hair in Gavin’s hair and kisses back.

 

*

 

If someone were to ask Michael when he fell in love with Gavin, he'd probably tell you to mind your own business. But, truthfully, he thinks maybe a part of him has always been in love with Gavin, even before they met. And, he's not stupid enough to believe in destiny or fate or soulmates, but he believes in Gavin.

 

That’s enough for him.

 

*

 

fin.


	2. epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Gavin tucks his knees up to his chest, turning to look at Michael beside him, with his eyes on the fireworks over the sea. Gavin's voice is small, warm, and full of love, his mind focusing on memorising every inch of Michael's face illuminated by the orange light, when he says, “Happy anniversary, Michael.”'
> 
> an epilogue.

The crack of an explosive.

 

Gavin presses his face against Michael's shoulder, the curve where it meets his neck, and his laughter is warm against Michael's skin. His hands are tight where they're gripping at the brown of Michael's jacket, explosions loud in the distance, and he can hear Geoff speaking over the comms but ignores it, and Michael does too.

 

In front of them, a warehouse crumbles to the ground, and Gavin's laughter turns from soft and quiet to more of a surprised squeak. Michael settles his arm around his neck, his other hand reaching to shake dust from Gavin's hair, wild and blowing in the wind.

 

“Michael!” Gavin yells, excited, and his green eyes shine bright as he stares at the rubble of the building. “That was awesome!”

 

“Top?” Michael teases, and his fingers tighten on Gavin's shoulder, his breath stolen, his heart pausing, when Gavin looks at him, smiling. Maybe it's something he'll never get used to; Gavin looking at him like _that_ , and how flustered Michael gets because it's for him, just him, and he's so lucky. To get that, to get Gavin.

 

“ _Bloody_ top,” Gavin confirms, swaying on his feet slightly. “Bloody top, Michael.”

 

Michael likes this, the heists and blowing things up for fun with Gavin, the Golden Boy a thing of the past. Gavin's hair is darker, longer, and the scruff growing neatly on his face brings out the deep green of his eyes, sunglasses discarded long ago. He's still Ramsey's Golden Boy, but this version of him, more Gavin than anything else, is Michael's.

 

He's clumsier, sillier, like tripping over untied laces into an unimpressed Michael, but it's all Gavin. The others don't ask when he gets ready for a heist and forgoes the designer shirts, or the sunglasses, and doesn't bother slicking his hair back, without even an irritated squeak when Michael ruffles it on his way past.

 

And, they don't bring it up the first time they finish a heist, all crammed into Jeremy's eyesore of a car with its orange and purple, and Gavin tucks himself into Michael's side, the latter's jacket wrapped around Gavin. It feels normal, to be close to Gavin in any situation, and Michael doesn't mind the subtle stares of curiosity.

 

His Gavin, burning this city to the ground with him, laughs beside him, a finger twisting in his dirty hair. It's caked with dust and bits of concrete from the warehouse sitting in an unidentifiable mess before them, and Michael gives him a look when he feels a finger wipe at his cheek.

 

“Gavin!”

 

“What'd I do?” Gavin says, and has the nerve to sound confused, smiling slightly, eyes wide. His lips are tilted uneasily, and his gaze catches on the mirrored look on Michael's face; Michael, who, for some reason, can never really be mad at Gavin no matter how much he tries.

 

“You know _exactly_ what you _did_ ,” Michael replies, trying to keep his fondness in the form of a smile off his face. Despite his mask of irritancy, his arm doesn't once fall from around Gavin's shoulders, and he doesn't move to wipe the grey dust from his cheek even though he hates the way it feels so rough against his skin.

 

Gavin stares, and Michael swallows harshly as he looks away, mind racing to other things that aren't how beautiful Gavin is, how wrecked and ruined he looks next to Michael. His body relaxes when he feels Gavin wipe at the dust on his cheek, and there's a warm look on his face as he does so, something loving in the gesture.

 

“All better,” he says, though his voice is quiet, breathy against Michael's neck as he leans in to tuck his head against Michael's collarbone.

 

He's taller, by enough that it's an awkward angle, but neither of them complain. It's familiar, though typically something they'll do curled up on the soft couch in Gavin's apartment, and Michael sways easily into the touch. It's nice, and he knows him of the past would need a moment to adjust to how close he's gotten to Gavin, Los Santos’ infamous Golden Boy, but he doesn't give himself enough time to think about it properly.

 

Michael spent far longer than necessary pining over Gavin, he knows that. It took him a little less time to realise he was pining to realise he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, falling in love with Gavin the way he did. But, it felt right. So, so right. Enough so that despite trying to fight it, it still happened. He tried not to, but Gavin smiled at him and Michael's heart made the decision for him.

 

Now, Gavin snuggles against him, and Michael is still caught breathless by every moment he spends with him. Gavin, who is far too beautiful for his own good, and who was in love with Michael well before Michael even knew what love was.

 

Gavin's said that once, or twice, in the dark of his bedroom with his and Michael's limbs tangled warmly under the sheets. And Michael, blurry vision with his glasses on the bedside table, running out of ways to say sorry. If he'd stayed even one of the times Gavin had asked him to maybe they would've done this a lot sooner.

 

“You thinking?” a voice says, breaking the silence, and Michael tunes back into reality enough to recognise it as Gavin.

 

“Yeah.”

 

An appreciative hum, the silence too much for even Michael in the moment it spans between them. Out of curiosity, or perhaps an attempt to break the quiet, Gavin's hand twists in the fabric of Michael's shirt and he says, “'Bout?”

 

“You,” he answers, immediately, and is almost surprised by himself if not for Gavin's soft laughter following his too honest reply.

 

Gavin lifts his head, hand moving from twisted around Michael's hip to closer to his ribs. There's a soft smile on his face, eyes brighter than the light of the sun setting in the distance, and his beard brushes against Michael's chin when he leans forward. There's a moment where Michael can't do anything but focus on Gavin close in his space, then a hand is drifting into dirty hair, and his lips are forming a smile before he can help it.

 

It's warm, and a bit different from their usual, desperate, celebratory post-heist kisses, because Gavin initiated it this time, and he's taking his time with the movement. Savouring it, maybe, but Michael certainly doesn't mind, especially when he presses forward and closes the small distance between them.

 

“Home?” Geoff's voice suddenly asks through the comms, and Michael can hear the smile in his voice, the sirens coming from behind him.

 

Gavin breaks the kiss, but still hovers close enough to Michael's lips that he can feel them brush for a second. They're breathless, warm, and Michael silently curses Geoff for interrupting the moment.

 

“Yeah, boss,” he manages, and his eyes find Gavin's before he adds, “Home.”

 

*

 

Mount Chiliad is cold by the time they get there, the wind tossing about Michael's short curls and tangling Gavin's slightly long hair. The absence of Michael's jacket is obvious, with it hanging off Gavin's slim frame, and Gavin moves closer, letting Michael hang his arm around his shoulders. It doesn't do much to keep them warm but it's better than having any distance between them.

 

“You good?” Michael asks, and doesn't miss the way Gavin shivers against him.

 

“Freezing, innit,” comes the reply, and then a soft laugh at the unamused look Michael gives. “I mean, I appreciate your sacrifice in giving me your jacket. You're a hero for the ages, Michael.”

 

Michael laughs, and doesn't miss the look Gavin gives him out of the corner of his eye, appreciative and full of love. He considers the life he could've had before this, as an electrician making steady money and unhappily married, most likely, and maybe being a criminal with blood on their hands isn't better than that but in this life he chose he has his crew, he has _Gavin_. Nothing's worth more than that.

 

Across the water a-ways, near the beach, a crackle sound deafens them, before fireworks worm their way into the sky. The night is dark, with the moon barely lit, and Michael instinctively pulls Gavin closer at the sounds below, not complaining when Gavin grabs the hand Michael has settled in his lap.

 

“Happy anniversary, boi.”

 

Gavin tucks his knees up to his chest, turning to look at Michael beside him, with his eyes on the fireworks over the sea. Gavin's voice is small, warm, and full of love, his mind focusing on memorising every inch of Michael's face illuminated by the orange light, when he says, “Happy anniversary, Michael.”

 

  
Every word said means _'I love you.’_

 

_*_

 

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely couldn't write anything else without writing an epilogue for this because their story definitely didn't feel finished when i posted it and i wanted to do a lil thing to wrap it up. i hope you like it ! and thank you for all the reads n kudos n comments. i appreciate it so much and i loved writing for these two  ♡.
> 
> tumblr is @ohgavins if ur interested !
> 
> \- rachel.

**Author's Note:**

> o my god?? thank u if you got this far, if you enjoyed it, leave a much appreciated kudos or comment! this was meant to be a lot longer because I didn't feel too satisfied with the ending but I hope it's ok. a small break from cow chop to go back to my roots aka achievement hunter. I probably won't write anything else for ah Ever fjdkfjj but this was fun.
> 
> find me on tumblr @ohgavins. writing blog @fakespoetry.
> 
> thanks !,  
> rachel.


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